


Picking flowers

by snap_crackles (orphan_account)



Category: SEVENTEEN (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, Alternate Universe - Not K-Pop Idols, Angst, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Ghosts, Humor, M/M, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Supernatural Elements, at least... i don't think it's too heavy (?), but i promise the angst is light...kinda, i call it diet angst, jun and wonu are bffs forever come-what-may so jot that down, tastes like angst but it's not the heavy stuff, this starts off sad ngl
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-04-06
Updated: 2018-04-23
Packaged: 2019-04-19 07:31:07
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,224
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14232351
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/snap_crackles
Summary: “Why are you handcuffing our wrists together?”“I need to see if the person you’re trying to woo is gorgeous enough to warrant flower theft!”-In which Soonyoung’s front lawn is filled with pretty flowers and Wonwoo develops a habit of making bouquets from said lawn.Wonwoo has a valid reason.Finding a believable, logical, seemingly sane explanation is the only complication.





	1. Rain

**Author's Note:**

> Hey y’all! So I’m writing soonwoo for the first time because it’s one of the pairings I adore. This is based on an AU prompt I’ve seen floating around tumblr a few times in the past and I decided to write it because I’ve been lacking inspiration lately. The prompt was:
> 
>  “Sometimes I steal flowers from your garden on my way to the cemetery, but today you’ve caught me and have demanded to come with me to make sure the "[person] is pretty enough to warrant flower theft” and I’m trying to figure out how to break it to you that we’re on our way to a graveyard".
> 
> I got it off the blog ‘awful-aus’: [**< CLICK ME>**](http://awful-aus.tumblr.com/post/116941769918/awful-au-196)
> 
> However, while the pairing is soonwoo, this is going to be a very heavy ‘wonhui-bromance’ fic. Also, heads-up, the beginning is a bit sad/dark(?) and there are angst-y and sad moments in future chapters, but I swear this is a feels-good fic in general. I swear!
> 
> I hope you guys have a good day (or night) wherever you are in the world.

 

Wonwoo dreams of summer.

He dreams of clear skies and puffy clouds that sail through a sea of baby blue. He dreams of blinding sunlight that washes him in warmth— soaking through his clothes, his skin.

The sounds of children laughing rip through the streets of his neighborhood. The _shhhh-tik-tik-tik-tik_ sounds of a sprinkler system can also be heard, and somewhere in the near-distance is a loud hum of a lawn mower.

_“I’m hungry,”_ a voice whines, and Dream Wonwoo lets his eyelids flutter open as he shifts his head to the side.

Lying beside him on the grass is a teenage boy who’s blinking back at him.

It’s his best friend, Junhui.

Dream Wonwoo takes in the tranquil state of Dream Junhui’s face— the relaxed smile that hangs on the teenage boy’s mouth. The welcoming warmth of Junhui’s eyes.

Junhui also has his hands clasped and resting on his stomach; a position that Dream Wonwoo finds uncomfortably familiar but he can’t seem to place a finger on it…

_“You finished the pack of jelly candies in the fridge!”_ Wonwoo finally huffs out with amusement as he reaches over and flicks Junhui on the nose. _“Your stomach’s an endless pit.”_

_“Wonwoo, they’re jellies! They’re solidified liquid—it hardly counts as a solid food!”_ Junhui reasons. He puffs his lips into a pout, _“I want meat!”_

_“You’re such a big baby,”_ Wonwoo sighs as Junhui sticks a playful tongue out. _“But I suppose that’s why we’re best friends forever. I’ve got to take care of you. Someone’s gotta do it.”_

Though Wonwoo delivers the statement lightheartedly, something in his words make the smile on Junhui’s face fade.

_“You can’t take care of me, Wonwoo.”_ Dream Junhui whispers. _“And there’s no such thing as forever.”_

The declaration has Wonwoo stunned speechless and he can’t help but curiously search his friend’s eyes. He finds solemn emotion watching him; something akin to apology.

When Dream Wonwoo remains silent, Dream Junhui unclasps his hands and reaches over to Wonwoo’s face. With the knuckle of his index finger, Junhui lightly strokes his friend’s cheek, leaving a trail of coolness over warm skin.

_“Wonwoo. I am so sorry.”_

The question of ‘ _why?’_ dies in Wonwoo’s throat as he reaches up to hold Junhui’s finger in place.

And since when did Junhui’s skin feel so cold and stiff?

_“You never visit me,”_ Dream Junhui says, and while his tone is gentle, there’s also a tinge of hurt. “ _You can see me, so why won’t you come?”_ there’s nothing playful about this conversation anymore. _“Why are you scared? Do you hate me?”_

The sunlight that had once been shining down on them is abruptly blocked by dark clouds. The sounds of children laughing stop. The sound of the sprinkler system stops. The hum of the lawn mower stops.

And the world becomes deathly quiet.

_“I don’t hate you,”_ Wonwoo says when he finally finds his voice. _“How could I ever hate you_?” his grip on Junhui’s finger slightly tightens, even though Junhui makes no movement to pull away.

_“Because I left you. Don’t you remember that night?”_

There’s a pained expression on Junhui’s face; his eyes unblinking as he stares at Wonwoo, _past_ _Wonwoo_ , as if Wonwoo were transparent.

_“Perhaps you don’t. I’ll tell you. It was raining,”_ Dream Junhui continues softly, and as if the heavens had heard, water droplets begin to fall. It’s a quick build up, and the sprinkles turn into a shower.

Wonwoo sits up and looks at the progressively darkening sky. While he had once been blinded earlier by the sun, he is now being blinded by rain. He gets on his knees and looms over Junhui’s body.

_“We gotta go!”_ Wonwoo shakes Junhui’s limp form. _“C’mon Jun! Let’s get out of the rain!”_

_“Get out?”_ there’s an emotionless snort from Junhui, so uncharacteristic of the boy who was smiling a few moments ago. “ _But I never made it out of the rain…”_

Junhui, who had been squinting out into the night sky as the rain continued to heavily fall, shifts his head to the side so he can look into Wonwoo’s eyes once again.

Under the waxy lighting of streetlamps, Wonwoo can make out the emptiness of his friend’s expression. There’s something blank and unfeeling about this look, and Wonwoo can’t help but withdraw— as if touching Junhui burned. The person that stares back at Wonwoo isn’t Junnie anymore.

He doesn’t like this Junnie.

This isn’t _his_ Junnie.

There’s something hauntingly hollow about this Junnie and for some reason, it _hurts_.

_“Jun…”_

_“I never made it out of the rain, Wonwoo. I never made it out of the rain…”_

Wonwoo is tempted to shake his best friend. He want to yell out, _‘What the fuck does that even mean?’_ but he doesn’t, because there’s a sound of a vehicle’s roaring motor ripping though the sound of the storm, and Wonwoo whips his head around to find a flatbed truck flying down the street. It’s then when Wonwoo realizes that they must no longer be in the neighborhood anymore, going by the stoplights at an intersection that had replaced what was once his street’s cul-de-sac.

The car continues to race towards the light despite the glaring red that shines in its direction.

_“No,”_ Wonwoo murmurs as he watches a smaller car approach the intersection from a perpendicular lane. _“Oh God, no.”_

Dread makes a brief second feel like eternity, and Wonwoo feels his heart thump heavily against his chest. There’s a screech of breaks…a drawn out honk of a car horn…the loud crunch of metal…

Upon impact, the smaller car flips and rolls over; the front bumper detaches from its body— tumbling and skidding loudly across asphalt. There’s glass shards flying. Smoke rising…

And Dream Wonwoo is suddenly on his feet, running towards the heaps of smoldering metal. He screams out Junhui’s name again and again as he stumbles through the torrential downpour; the soles of his sneakers slipping on the slick road. He’s not completely confident in _why_ he screams Junhui’s name; his best friend had been right beside him this whole time, but there’s a sinking suspicion that tugs at the depths of his gut.

It’s a dreaded suspicion that it’s _his_ Junnie in that totaled car. _His_ Junnie; the Junnie that has kind eyes and warm smiles— a boy so filled with love.

The Junhui Wonwoo had left behind, lying on the grass, was an imposter— so cold to touch and cryptically filled with chilling words.

_“Please, Junnie. It’s not you…it can’t be you…don’t let this be you.”_

When Wonwoo arrives at the wreckage, his shoes crunch against broken glass. He approaches the small, flipped over, T-boned car slowly; trying to swallow the fear he has of what he may find.

After he walks around the rear bumper and reaches the driver window, he closes his eyes before squatting to the asphalt.

When he opens his eyes and looks into the broken window, it takes everything in him to not scream.

 

_Junhui never made it out of the rain…_

 

 

Wonwoo wakes up with cold sweat.

He sits up in bed, panting as he hides his wet face in his hands. His shoulders shake as he lets himself quietly cry.

_It’s just a dream._ Wonwoo thinks to himself as he swipes at the tears on his face. _C’mon, get a hold of yourself._

He takes a moment to deeply inhale and slowly exhale before looking in the direction of his alarm clock that reads 4:27 AM.

_There’s no point in going back to sleep now…_

Finding his way through the darkness, Wonwoo makes it to the light switch and flicks it on before catching his appearance in the standing mirror.

There are sweat stains on his baggy tee shirt. His eyes are red and slightly swollen. His hair is in disarray…

“Wen Junhui, are you finally haunting me?” Wonwoo asks quietly, looking up and letting his eyes slowly sweep across the ceiling. He swallows before letting out a strained laugh. “Because if you are, that’s a dick move. Showing me how you died was uncalled for, you dramatic hoe.”

He doesn’t know if it’ll work— if Junhui will appear to him after four months of no contact. The last time they had seen each other and exchanged brief words was at the funeral.

Junhui’s funeral.

“I miss you so much.” Wonwoo whispers as he looks around his room. He licks at his dry lips as he begins to blink again, trying to keep fresh tears at bay. “And I know I should’ve kept seeing you. I just…I’ll tell you about it soon, okay? I have reasons, I swear… selfish reasons,” he closes his eyes, just hoping that Junhui will hear his calls because Junhui’s spirit has tethers all over Wonwoo’s room.

That snow globe sitting on top of Wonwoo’s bedside table? It was a Christmas gift Junnie had made back when they were in first grade— a project that little Junhui had put all his heart and effort into, and Wonwoo has always treasured it since.

The stuffed fox that sits on the fourth shelf of Wonwoo’s bookstand? Also from Junnie. Junhui had given it to Wonwoo when they were in third grade. Wonwoo had been sick for a week when Junhui decided to stop by and visit.

_“Here, you can have Mr. Fox!”_ Junhui had said, tucking the stuffed animal right beside Wonwoo.

_“Aren’t I a little too old for stuffed animals?”_ Wonwoo had asked. His voice cracked and his head hurt, but he had reached over for the plushie and cradled it against his chest.

_“I thought it’d give you some company_.” Junhui shrugged. _“Mr. Fox was always there for me whenever I got sick. I had him since I was a baby, but I wanted to give him to you. He’s yours now.”_

_“But won’t you miss him?”_

_“A little. But I have plenty of plushies, so it’s okay…”_

There’s also a shoebox under Wonwoo’s desk; a shoebox filled with letters and hand-drawn pictures from Junhui. Handmade birthday cards and Christmas cards… Tiny, crumpled up notes and doodles Junhui had passed to Wonwoo during class… Heartfelt letters Junhui had written on every anniversary day of their friendship— August 23, the first day of school.

Wonwoo has kept it all.

And yet, despite the tethers that bridge the living world and the spiritual, the room remains silent.

Taking a deep breath, Wonwoo turns away from the mirror and goes to his closet to pick out his outfit for the day.

Flicking through his hangered shirts, he tries not think about the night of the accident. How Junhui had left his house, wearing an easy smile. How Junhui’s eyes were fond and bright…

_“I’ll see you Monday,”_ Junhui had said as Wonwoo walked him to the front door.

_“Are you sure you don’t want to stay the night? It’s fucking pouring out.”_ Wonwoo murmured as Junhui opened the door. They both peered out into the darkness, the sound of falling rain filling the pause in between them. _“Mom and dad wouldn’t mind.”_ Wonwoo continued, looking at his best friend who was in the process of pulling up his hood.

_“Nah, it’ll be fine.”_ Junhui chirped. _“I like driving in the rain, it’s peaceful.”_ a sound of thunder then rumbled, and Wonwoo raised a doubtful eyebrow.

_“Peaceful. Right,”_ Wonwoo huffed, crossing his arms. “ _Just drive safe, Wen.”_ Wonwoo sternly instructed as Junhui stepped out onto the welcome mat. The teenage boy turned on his heel, Wonwoo catching the end of an elaborate eye roll.

_“Stop fussing. I’m a safe driver!”_ Junhui reassured, walking backward and pointing out finger guns. The two shared grins as Wonwoo flashed finger guns back.

The flashback makes Wonwoo heavily sigh as he pulls out a baggy hoodie. The thought that Junhui could still be here, alive and well, hurt.

_I should’ve tried harder to make him stay…_

Later, when he returns to his room after a shower and a quick breakfast of toast and coffee, he finds that there’s a message written on the standing mirror, and a dry erase marker rests on the floor.

**I heard you call for me. I didn’t reach you through your nightmare, but if I could have the ability to see you in your dreams, I would.**  
Maybe I SHOULD haunt your twig ass!  
**I miss you a lot, nerd. If you’re ready, come see me.**  
**-Forever yours, Junnie**  
**♡♡♡♡**  



	2. Missing People (missing you)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Wonwoo goes to see a friendly face for advice.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys! So, I’m back. Minghao finally gets introduced to us in this chapter; though I’m pushing off Jeonghan and Soonyoung’s appearance until next chapter because this is long enough as it is. I know this fic is moving along at a turtle’s pace (I’m sorry), but I hope you guys enjoy this chapter anyway. I hope y’all are having a good day or night!

 

For as long as Wonwoo can remember he has always had the ability to see ghosts.

He sees them almost everywhere.

At school. At the grocery store. The mall. The park. At the roadside… He’s even seen a few at the movie theatre he used to work at.

They’re unavoidable, and it makes him wonder why ghosts walk the places they walk. Did they die there? What are they tethered to? In the strange instances where he’s seen ghosts lurk at the movie theater, he often finds them keeping close to a specific living person— perhaps the living person wears an old keepsake; a locket, a ring…

Sometimes the spirits talk to Wonwoo. Sometimes they curiously ogle him. Other times they continue to walk by or keep at a distance, usually while eyeing him with a suspicious glare.

Wonwoo doesn’t fault them for that. He’s pretty sure that not many are born with the ability to come in contact with the dead, so he understands their suspicion. Out of respect, Wonwoo keeps to his space, minds his own business, and doesn’t initiate conversation unless he’s approached. He figures it’s better for him in the long run this way; the last thing he wants is a vengeful spirit at his heel.

Wonwoo’s grandfather is perhaps the first ghost Wonwoo remembers coming in contact with. The meeting is a vague memory; the conversation only a gist Wonwoo can recite, but it’s an encounter he can never fully forget.

Wonwoo was five at the time; sprawled out on the living room floor and watching cartoons when he felt something icy press against the fabric of his shirt.

 _“You must be Wonwoo,”_ a gruff and unfamiliar male’s voice spoke out, low and quiet. Wonwoo had jumped at the sudden speech and the sensation of cold soaking into his skin. With eyes widened in fright, Wonwoo had looked over his shoulder to find a figure of an old man sitting beside him.

There was something strange about this old man. Everything about him was white and shades of light grey. He was partially transparent; Wonwoo being able to make out the faint outlines and masses of objects behind the mysterious figure.

 _“Who are you?”_ Wonwoo whispered fearfully, inching away from the spirit of his late grandfather. The old man’s expression transitioned from shock to genuine joy.

 _“Ah, you see me then? Even in death the world keeps giving new surprises! I’m your grandpa, Wonwoo!”_ the man answered with a bright smile. _“I’m your mother’s dad.”_

For Mr. Jeon, the charming moment had quickly shattered when the small boy loudly piped up, _“No you’re not!”_ Wonwoo then shook his head. _“Mommy said that grandpa is gone! Forever. You can’t be him!”_

 _“But I am him,”_ the old man patiently replied. _“Have you heard about ghosts, Wonwoo? Your mother is right; I am gone, but I’m still here. This is my spirit, Wonwoo. I’m a ghost.”_

 _“A ghost,”_ Wonwoo’s mouth formed a little ‘o’ in realization before he allowed himself to cautiously inch closer, carefully holding his hand out and placing it on his grandfather’s knee.

 _“Me and Junnie tell ghost stories sometimes,”_ the child spoke out after a moment of contemplative silence. _“And sometimes Hannie reads us scary stories when his class comes to visit our class for buddy reading time at school!”_ he then peered upward into his grandfather’s attentive eyes. _“And sometimes when Junnie stays the night, we watch Scooby-Doo, but the ghosts on Scooby-Doo look like floating blankets! Ghosts always look like floating blankets!”_

  _“Well in that case, I’m sorry to disappoint you.The last I checked, I’m not a floating blanket.”_ the ghost of the old man teased before reaching out to ruffle his grandson’s hair. He hastily withdrew when Wonwoo recoiled.

 _“You’re so cold,”_ Wonwoo whispered, looking on with awe as he tugged away his hand that still rested on his grandfather’s knee.

_“Should I not touch you then? Or do you want a blanket?”_

_“No, it’s okay.”_ Wonwoo shook his head reassuringly, and then his eyes grew large. _“If you’re here, then mommy will be happy to see you!”_

Eager at the idea of a reunion, the child scrambled to his feet, only to let the excited smile on his lips die after seeing the solemn expression on his late grandfather’s face.

 _“I don’t think so little one.”_ Mr. Jeon said, and huffed a little laugh when his grandson pouted.

_“Why? She’s so sad and cries a lot these days! She misses you!”_

_“And I miss her,”_ the ghost gently replied back. _“But she can’t see me, Wonwoo. I’ve visited before, but she cannot see me like you can.”_

_“How come?”_

_“I don’t know, Wonwoo.”_ The man sighed. _“But you are special…”_ The man then looked up and furrowed his eyebrows. _“I hear someone calling me… It sounds like your grandma…”_ he proceeded to stand, but not without playfully mussing his grandson’s hair once again. _“I have to go for a little bit, Wonwoo.”_

 _“But you just got here and I don’t hear anything,”_ Wonwoo frowned, as his grandfather smiled warmly down at him.

_“I can promise you that I’ll be back. You’ll see me again very soon. Until then, behave okay? Be your mother’s happiness. Your father’s joy.”_

_“I will,”_ Wonwoo nodded solemnly. _“I’m always a good boy.”_

 _“And I can believe that,”_ The old man smiled fondly before kneeling onto the carpet. _“Just know that I’m always here. Always listening,”_ he then playfully tugged at the boy’s ear, gaining a giggle for a response. _“Maybe you can let your mother know as well… tell her that I’ll always be here. In your hearts. Maybe she can find comfort in those words.”_

 _“Okay, I’ll tell her,”_ Wonwoo scrunched his face up, trying to commit his grandfather’s words to memory.

_“Good. I’ll be back to see you.”_

Later that night, Wonwoo proceeded to tell his mother about his grandfather’s visit as she tucked him into bed. The woman froze, her eyes roaming around the room before she looked down at her son, hurt.

 _“That’s not funny, Wonwoo_ ,” she murmured. _“You and Junnie tell each other too many stories. Ghosts aren’t real. Do not talk about your grandfather like that again.”_

_“But it’s true!”_

_“That’s enough, Wonwoo!”_ The woman snapped before tiredly sighing _. “I’m sorry, love. I just miss your grandpa so much. But ghosts aren’t real. Your grandpa is resting now, so we should let his spirit rest,”_ she then leaned in to kiss Wonwoo’s forehead, not bothering to address the stubborn frown on her son’s lips. _“And it’s time for you to get some rest too, alright? It’s bed-time. Sleep well, Wonwoo. I love you.”_

_“I love you too.”_

Left alone in the darkness of his room, Wonwoo then whispered out, _“Grandpa, she didn’t believe me…”_

Little Wonwoo wondered if it would work— if his grandfather could hear him. If his grandfather was truly with him, always.

_“No, I suppose it’s a hard story to believe.”_

Wonwoo sat up, pleased to find his grandfather’s ghost watching him from the closet; the spirit a brilliant figure that glowed with a pearly sheen.

 _“But it’s true!”_ Wonwoo pouted quietly as his grandfather approached his bedside. _“I didn’t lie. I can see you. You’re real…You’re here!”_

 _“I am very real.”_ The ghost softly confirmed before sitting on the bed and reaching out to pat Wonwoo’s head. Wonwoo flinched at the touch, and the ghost drew his hand away. _“I’m sorry,”_ The spirit apologized. _“I forgot that I feel cold to you.”_

 _“It’s okay,”_ Wonwoo timidly said, before reaching for his grandfather’s hand. _“I can get used to it.”_

For the next nine months, Wonwoo’s grandfather would routinely visit; checking in with his grandson whenever Wonwoo was home from school.

It took nine months for Wonwoo’s mother to finish grieving.

It was after those nine months did Wonwoo never see the ghost of his grandfather again…

 

* * *

 

It never fails to amaze Wonwoo how large the interior of Pledis High School can seem whenever he lurks the halls alone. Without the student body, the building feels empty—the main halls stretching for what seems like miles.

Today, Wonwoo is purposely early; coming in minutes after the main doors were unlocked. He’s making his way to the East Wing of the building, a segment of the campus dedicated to halls E and D, home of the school’s fine arts department.

Walking through the double doors of the East Wing, there’s a dramatic change in atmosphere. The plain white walls are suddenly bursting with color and adorned with student-made paintings. Unlike the West Wing athletics department where students are first greeted by tall display cases filled with trophies, medallions and vintage uniforms, Wonwoo is greeted by pottery pieces and painted glassware.

For a moment, Wonwoo stops in his tracks to take in the recent pieces created by his peers. He hadn’t stepped foot in East Wing since last year, having tackled his mandatory fine arts credits.

“I swear; all this art is the only redeeming thing about being tethered to this goddamn place,” a voice bitterly comments, and Wonwoo lets a small smile slip out as he turns his head to face the archway of D-Hall.

There, leaning against the wall, is a ghost of a teenage boy. There’s something very dated about his opaque image. From the round, aviator framed glasses that sit at the bridge of his nose, to the flared style of his jeans, and the striped vest layering over a sweater. The boy’s hair is styled into a subtle mullet; his fringe just barely flopping over his eyes.

“Or so you’ve told me countless times before,” Wonwoo responds amiably as the ghost walks over. “Hey Minghao.”

“What’s up bro? You _chill?_ Long time no see.” Xu Minghao grins as Wonwoo visibly winces.

“Please stop trying to blend in with the youths. Your age is showing.”

“Well fuck you too, Jeon. Way to remind me that I’m supposed to be in my 50’s, and instead I'm trapped in a 16-year-old metaphysical body.”

“You know what; you confirming your age just makes things ten times more awkward so I’ll pretend you’re not actually 50.” Wonwoo huffs out with amusement as he rolls his eyes. “Anyway, you could literally pop in during any of my classes if you wanted to see me.”

“And we’ll do what? Just stare at each other the whole class period?” Minghao’s ghost snorts. “It’s not like we’d be able to talk to each other, unless you’re cool with everyone thinking you’ve gone nuts by talking to air.”

“Get this,” Wonwoo begins as he starts to walk away from the display cases, Minghao shadowing closely behind. “We’ve got this cool thing called pens and paper that you can use to communicate with people.” His grin grows as he feels Minghao’s cold fist playfully bump against his shoulder.

“Shut up asshole. I’m from the 70’s, not the fucking stone age.”

Wonwoo lets out a mock-skeptical hum as he leads them to an open space at the end of the hall.

“Clearly. The mop on your head speaks volumes.”

“You’re just jealous that I can rock a mullet better than anyone else can.”

“Jealous? You can keep your mop-hair, Minghao-Ray Cyrus.”

“Hey now,” Minghao takes a few strides ahead so that he can walk backwards in front of Wonwoo, ensuring that Wonwoo gets a clear view of his serious expression. “Don’t go breaking my _achy-breaky heart.”_

 _“Oh my god,”_ Wonwoo groans, stopping in his tracks. “Whoever’s managing your ticket to the afterlife better give you a one-way ticket to Hell.” He tries to say it with a straight face, but Minghao’s deadpan façade cracks, and Wonwoo can’t help but grin.

“Well then Hell better prepare itself, ‘cause I’m coming in looking hell _hot,”_ Minghao looks so proud of himself, Wonwoo can’t help but snort.

 _“_ Just stop talking,” Wonwoo begs as he continues forward, walking past Minghao who gladly follows. “Let’s change topics, please.”

“Fine, going back to topic of why we can’t communicate in class—who wouldn’t question a pen writing by itself?” Minghao prompts.

“Literally _no_ _one_ would question it because I always sit in the back of class and keep to myself.”

“Looks like _someone_ has no friends.”

“Minghao, I’d drag you through Hell, Heaven, and back with a diss about having no friends; but I won’t because you’re vengeful as fuck.”

“Correct. But anyway, are you inviting me to pester you during lecture?”

“I’m considering about retracting my invitation, but yes, I guess I was.”

When they reach the open area where the ends of E and D-Halls connect, the two proceed to sit on the couch that’s pushed against the wall; silence befalling the two as Wonwoo peels off his backpack and sets it on the floor.

“So, Junhui and I have finally met,” Minghao casually begins, and Wonwoo turns to look at the ghost, shocked. Minghao rolls his eyes. “Seriously, why are you surprised? Everyone who dies in this godforsaken town gets _buried_ in this godforsaken town. Our spirits were bound to meet.”

“You make it sound oddly romantic,” Wonwoo drily comments before he leans back and tiredly sighs. Minghao makes a face.

“I’ve told you before and I still stick with my guns when I say that he’s cute. But he’s also _annoying_.”

At this, Wonwoo loudly snorts but allows for a fond smile to grace his lips. “A match made in Heaven.”

“I take offence to that! But technically it’s more like a match made in the void between Earth and the afterlife; but that’s very nice of you to suggest that Heaven’s still waiting for me.”

At this, Wonwoo frowns and side-eyes the spirit, only to find Minghao looking blankly at the walls.

“Want to, uh, talk about it?” Wonwoo asks awkwardly, and Minghao turns to look at him through narrowed eyes.

“What’s there to talk about?” It’s a defensive rhetorical question that has Wonwoo raising an eyebrow and Minghao sighing apologetically.  

“Sorry,” The ghost mumbles. “I just…heaven’s a weird, sensitive topic,” Minghao lets out a sardonic laugh. “I can joke about Hell because I know I’m not a terrible enough person to actually be sent there to burn for eternity… I just…you know the gist of what happened to me. I got murdered. My body was found the next day, because let’s be real—an average high schooler who knows nothing about being a professional killer is going to leave behind a messy trail. They caught the bastard, but my parents never fully let go of what happened to me; as a result, it’s kept me here for the longest time… And I haunt this school because apparently keeping my past artwork up is the least people can do to respect my memory when no one did anything about the shit bullying and racism that ended my life,” Minghao ends his tirade on a sour note before heavily exhaling and looking away.

“You can’t find peace,” Wonwoo murmurs softly before he can help himself.

“I could say the same thing about Junhui,” Minghao grumbles quietly as he draws his knees up against his chest, and Wonwoo’s eyes widen. “You won’t let him rest either.”

The words sting, and Wonwoo can’t help but redirect his glance elsewhere. “Me validating your feelings isn’t a sudden invitation to call me out,” he says, crossing his legs at the ankle.

“Cut the shit Wonwoo; we’re both too straightforward and unyielding with each other to dance around things that are true.” The statement is blunt and followed shortly by an uncomfortable pause. “But I suppose the scars are still fresh for you … your pain right now is understandable,” Minghao says, softer this time, and Wonwoo forces himself to turn his attention back at the ghost.

Wonwoo finds Minghao studying him with an expression of neutrality—neither hostile and accusing, nor sympathetic and gentle.

“I mean, that’s the biggest reason why you’re here to see me isn’t it?”

“I was going to build myself up to that conversation eventually, but, if you _insist_ on having an intervention, then I admit it. I’m scared of losing him forever,” Wonwoo confesses with a deep breath while looking down at his lap. “You’re the only person who I can talk to that won’t send me straight to the hospital for claiming that I see ghosts. I feel like being connected to the supernatural makes grieving so much harder… He’s my best friend, Hao. And he’s gone, but not gone at the same time. And I want to be selfish.”

“Because as long as his spirit lingers, at least you can still see him,” Minghao states. Wonwoo looks up to find that Minghao’s eyes have thawed. They’re warmer now. Kinder.

“As long as his spirit lingers, it’s like he’s never left,” the ghost continues, tilting his head to the side. “But you also know that if you let yourself become close, the easier it will be to eventually let him go because you’ll understand that he’ll rest happy. And so you keep yourself at a distance and you refuse to properly mourn. You keep him here, because the idea of him still lingering on Earth is better than the idea of him being 100% gone, physically and spiritually. You’ll lose your best friend for good.”

“You read me like a therapist.” Wonwoo snorts, rubbing tiredly at his eyes.

“I’m dead, Wonwoo.” Minghao deadpans, causing Wonwoo to weakly chuckle. “May I point out that when I’m not haunting this godforsaken place after hours, I go home to the graveyard and hangout with all the other ghosts. Some of them are fucking ancient and bitter to the bone because they can’t let go. They’ve spent too long lingering around those that never learned to let go of them and they become too bitter or complacent as time goes on. Spirits get tired too of being trapped here, whether they realize it or not. After existing in this limbo for the past 35 years, you hear the different stories of souls passing through…”

“And are you bitter too?” Wonwoo asks curiously. Minghao gives him a wry smile.

“A bit. Really, I’m just tired. Mom and Dad are gone, and yet for some reason, I can’t leave yet? It feels like my spirit is just anchored here, and I have no clue what’s holding me back.” The ghost proceeds to let out a soft snicker, the release of laughter containing sarcastic undertones. “Death sucks in actuality. 0/10, would not recommend.”

Wonwoo lets out a loud snort and proceeds to bump his body against Minghao’s spiritual form. The ghost looks over at the teenage boy and gives a lopsided grin before gently swaying to the side and bumping against Wonwoo in return.

“In all seriousness though Wonwoo, just go talk to Jun. Don’t think about the eventual letting go aspect in all of this if you can’t stomach that thought right now. Just live in what’s present. He’s not going to slip from your fingers overnight, and you can’t keep hurting like this either.” Minghao proceeds to rest his head against Wonwoo’s shoulder; an act that startles Wonwoo, but ultimately leaves him touched.

“You have a privilege to see the people you love who are dead,” Minghao continues softly. “Just use it, yeah? I think you know all of this already though; you just have that fear of loss holding you back.”

“Yeah, I know; you’re right.” Wonwoo sighs quietly. “I really am just going have to get through it. I miss Junnie. I’m thinking about seeing him afterschool today.”

“Do it!” Minghao exclaims, pulling away from Wonwoo, a proud smile on his lips. “Junhui would love that too! It would be good for the both of you.”

Wonwoo ducks his head momentarily before looking back up to find Minghao staring at him fondly.

 “Thanks,” Wonwoo begins, before letting his earnest smile morph into something a little mischievous. “Seriously gramps, thank you for your words of wisdom.”

“Honestly, Wonwoo? You’re not welcome. Fuck you too.”

 

 

Later in the day, Wonwoo will pull up into a parking space across the street from the town’s cemetery.

He will kill the engine before drumming his fingers anxiously on the steering wheel of his car, recollecting his last-minute thoughts on anything and everything that he could say to his dead best friend.

His eyes will skim across the row of houses in front of him; his eyes stopping at the house on the end of the row; a house with a beautiful yard filled with flowers…a garden bursting with color and life.

And the sight will make Wonwoo smile.

Wonwoo smiles because not only is the sight visually pleasing, but also because Junhui would have loved it too; Junhui, an appreciator of all the small things in life—Junhui who saw beauty in everything.

_I should’ve brought him flowers…_

Without really thinking things through, Wonwoo climbs out of his car and locks the door, but it isn’t the cemetery that he walks towards…

It takes two minutes to make it to the house with the pretty lawn, and when he gets there, he stops at the nearest flowerbed that’s located near the mailbox.

 _Chrysanthemum._ Wonwoo thinks to himself automatically when his eyes fall first onto the round blooms of bright orange and deep red. _For a wonderful friend…_

He picks a few of the flowers, making sure to handle the overall garden with care before stepping back and assessing the rest of the flowers to choose from.

He ends up picking blue periwinkles and strongly fragrant gardenias from a nearby shrub to complete his bouquet.

It’s not the most elegant of flower arrangements, the blooms being bounded together with duct tape that Wonwoo had managed to dig out from underneath the backseat of his car, but he’s confident that the message will transfer through just fine.

Chrysanthemums for a wonderful friend.  Periwinkles for an early-blooming friendship, reminiscence and eternity… Gardenias to say, _you’re lovely…_

Junnie would understand.

As Wonwoo makes his way through the cemetery, he tries to ignore the spirits who eye him from their graves. Some whisper amongst each other and point, wondering whose lucky soul is receiving a special visit today.

_“A dead lover perhaps?”_

_“Oh hush! Not everything has to relate to your tragic romance!”_

Wonwoo fights the urge to roll his eyes and tries to bite back the smile itching to grow on his face. Is this what Minghao and Junhui do in their spare time? Gossip with other trapped souls?

It takes a couple of minutes for Wonwoo to reach his destination, but his feet eventually stop in front of a granite grave stone.

****

**Wen Junhui**  
**June 10, 1996 – November 25, 2013**  
**“Young and sweet, only seventeen.” -ABBA**  
**May you be forever young.**

 

The epithet coaxes a small laugh from Wonwoo and his vision blurs. Quoting ABBA is so fitting for Junhui, it hurts. The bitter-sweetness of it all is suddenly consuming, because Junhui _was_ so young with so much _life_ to live and so much _love_ to give… and of course, Junhui would want nothing more than to make people smile, even after death…

Wonwoo kneels to the ground and takes a deep breath. His eyes scope out his surroundings, looking for that familiar face he cares so deeply for.

“I’m finally here, you prick,” Wonwoo says out loud, smiling fondly as he wipes at his stinging eyes. “Are you seriously going to make me wait? I know you hear me!”

_You have to hear me… I’m standing over your body…six feet of rock and soil between us._

“Whatever happened to the saying, _rest in peace?”_ a voice behind Wonwoo playfully asks.

Wonwoo jumps at the sound, but before he can stand, he feels a cold hand rest on his shoulder. He shifts his head to the side and looks up.

 “Junnie,” Wonwoo croaks, and the ghost’s smile widens.

Maybe if Junhui were alive there’d be a sparkle in his eyes—an apparent glimmer of amusement—but that shine is absent in this opaque form. Regardless, if there’s one thing lifelessness can’t take away, it’s Junhui’s signature aura—a welcoming warmth… friendliness.

Wonwoo stands, Junhui’s bouquet still in his hands, and for a moment he forgets that he can still reach out with one hand if he wants to.

“You’re here.”

“An excellent observation,” Junhui softly teases. He giggles when Wonwoo rolls his eyes, and in the brief pause between them, the spirit reaches out and cups Wonwoo’s cheek.

Junhui’s touch burns cold, but Wonwoo can’t peel away. It’s the only thing legitimizing that Junhui’s still here; that this special gift of seeing the dead truly isn’t a 17-year-old figment of his imagination.

“I’ve missed you.”

“I’ve missed you too.”

 


End file.
